Ariel's Tale IV
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Based on "Above" by Leah Bobet. Five things Ariel regrets in hindsight, and one thing she doesn't, told in her own words.


Ariel's Tale IV

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Above

Copyright: Leah Bobet

1.

I shouldn't have run away from home. I mean, I was right to leave of course, but not like that, not without money or food or even a plan. No wonder I was desperate enough to follow Jimmy, so desperate I didn't even see the wrongness behind his smile. He was enough like my father to have matched him in a fight, protected me, but I should have known he was also enough like him to be dangerous.

At first I thought I owed him for taking me in, owed him cleaning, cooking and sex so he'd keep the door locked between me and the cold, hungry streets. He was mostly nice in the beginning too, bringing me flowers, holding me when I had nightmares. It was just that sometimes I couldn't keep up my end of the deal; the hallucinations would come and I'd drop plates, or forget to go shopping, or not feel like being touched. And after a hard day scrubbing toilets or waiting tables, Jimmy just got frustrated – and took it out on me.

I understood that, really I did. I just didn't understand why I had to hurt for it. This was supposed to be my safe place, and it wasn't. I might as well have stayed in my father's house.

By the time people started staring at us in the street, him holding my wrist to cover up the bruises, I knew it was time to run. I just wish it had been sooner.

2.

I shouldn't have attacked Darren. I didn't do it on purpose, but to this day I still think I should've stopped myself somehow. Bea's place was the best home I ever had. It didn't have air conditioning or matching plates like my father's house, and the chairs were missing legs and the springs poked out of the sofas, but the people accepted me. They didn't hit me, they left me alone to keep the place clean while they worked. They trusted me - except for Darren.

I was so scared when he started in on me: _Don't pretend you ain't got nowhere else to go. If you don't pull your weight 'round here, I'll send you back to Jimmy. _I was scared out of my mind, seeing red, hating him for threatening to kick me out of my only home, not understanding that it _was_ my only home. He knew Jimmy hit me, how could he not understand? And before I knew it, the buzzing rage in my head became a real buzz, the world went colorless and exploded to huge sizes, and I was stinging the mountain of flesh that was Darren for all I was worth. Then Bea opened the window. I couldn't tell her goodbye. I couldn't thank her.

If I'd only kept my cool somehow, kept my human shape, promised him to take better care of the dishes, or even left the room, I might still be there, in peace and quiet, with Bea's wry smile and the sunlight streaming through the windows. But there was no way I could have stayed there after he knew what I was. He'd have called the cops on me, sent me to some hospital. I was a freak, after all. I belonged in one.

3.

I shouldn't have told Matthew I hated him. I don't.

It was easy to escape from Queen Street Mental Health – it's not like the guards could recognize me as a bee – but not so easy to survive outside. I don't remember how I even got down into those tunnels. The sickness, the thing the doctors called schizophrenia and Matthew called my Curse, was really bad at the time. I don't want to remember it.

When Matthew found me, I wasn't even sure if he was real. He looked and sounded too good to be true: brown eyes soft in the torchlight, holding out his hand. _'S all right. We won't hurt you._

_Yes you will,_ I answered, because everybody does.

I expected him to disappear into thin air. Instead he took my elbow and led me to Safe.

People-wise, I have to admit Safe was as good for me as Bea's squat. Better, even, because these people were like me: strange and broken and afraid. There was a man with crab claws, an old lady who talked to ghosts, a boy with curved horns poking out of his afro. And there was my Matthew, who used my wings to decorate his house like they were precious and beautiful, who told me fascinating, heartbreaking stories about his people, who never so much as laid a hand on me without my permission. Even though I knew he wanted me, saw it in his eyes as clear as daylight. Even though we shared a bed.

But the people of Safe, even my Matthew, weren't enough. I feel selfish and ungrateful saying this, but it's true. I hated the dark. I hated the thick, filthy smell of the sewers, the constant ticking of clocks, the suffocating thought of all that earth and concrete on top of me. I wanted _out_ – but every time I tried, Matthew found me, so hurt and confused and quietly reproachful, I just had to come back with him.

_Let me go,_ I thought. _Just give it up. Can't you see there's no fixing me? _But my sickness turned it into _I hate you_, and even that didn't make him give up on me. He just held me and stroked my hair, and led me back to Safe.

He was trying to be my protector, but my jailer, but it's a fine line sometimes. I don't blame him. I'm glad he cared enough to try.

4.

I should definitely not have stung up Matthew's hands. That's probably one of the worst things I ever did in my life. But my God, seeing him beat Jimmy unconscious like a butcher pounding a piece of meat was enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. Jimmy didn't even fight back. That's what no one understands about him; he hated himself for every mark he left on me, more than I could, more than anyone. It didn't make him stop, but it made him guilty enough that Matthew's condemnation left him passive as a bag of flour.

Matthew was vicious, inhuman; not my patient, loving storyteller at all. He was everything I've been escaping from all my life.

And then he turned to me, wild-eyed, blood on his shirt and hands: _How could you let him do this? Why didn't you love yourself good?_ And it was like he'd ripped my clothes off and left me standing naked: stupid girl, crazy girl, with no sense of self-preservation. Freakier than any of the freaks he grew up with.

I was too screwed up to understand that he meant just the opposite; that he loved me so much, it hurt him to see me not loving myself. But it's hard to believe someone loves me when he's snarling in my face like a wild dog, with his victim slumped in the corner behind him.

I did what I always do when I'm scared. I shapeshifted, and when he caught me in his hands, I stung until my stinger fell out.

He forgave me later, of course, and I forgave him too. But it's not that easy for us to forgive ourselves.

1.

I'm not sorry I went back to Queen Street. I tell myself this every day. Even though I still miss my Matthew in every pore – his low voice with its musical rhythm and strange Safe dialect (who in Toronto would tell me to 'love myself good'?); his scales glittering silver down his strong brown back; his warm hand brushing my wingtips – I'm not sorry.

That's because I remember now. Between the pills, the many talks with Dr. Choudhury in his leather armchair, the peaceful blue walls and the warm sunlight, I'm slowly learning to sort out what is real from what isn't. Dr. Choudhury is a serene, middle-aged man with a dark-chocolate voice who is good friends with Dr. Marybeth and, like her, has seen enough unbelievable things to believe in them. Things like the people of Safe. Of course I don't tell him where it is, but I tell him what happened. He listens with steady brown eyes, makes notes and doesn't judge me.

I'll probably have to take pills and see therapists for the rest of my life, but not here. In a few months, I'll be released, and Dr. Marybeth will help me find some way to earn a living. I could be a maid or a waitress or something. God knows I've done enough housekeeping. But with a nice employer and coworkers, it wouldn't be so bad. I could have my own little apartment, draw pictures in my spare time, read library books, go to museums.

I could make friends. Bees are hive insects, and so am I – I don't like to be alone. I won't hide away just because I'm sick. _Ain't no shame in healing,_ Matthew said. I could get back in touch with Bea so she won't worry. My combat-booted, Mohawked surrogate sister worries about everyone who leaves.

My whole life is in front of me, and I'm glad. Every day, I thank my Matthew for loving me enough to set me free.


End file.
